


Sewer Thoughts

by natantrash



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natantrash/pseuds/natantrash
Summary: Titus processes recent events while reflecting on his goals and motivations. Written after Comic #203 was posted.





	Sewer Thoughts

Titus cringes. Why is everything so hard? How did he continually find himself in the same place? Had he not changed everything about himself so meticulously, so carefully, so that he could finally be free? Had he not structured his environment in such a way that everything should have fallen into place? Every contingency was considered, and yet… 

How can she, such an insignificant creature, be so destructive? Everything about her should have the opposite effect. She is weak. She is naive. She does not matter. Why is he thinking of her now? The only one who matters is Lucifer. Even so, he only matters as an obstacle that Titus must overcome. Lucifer is the one who has sunk so low as to care about that pitiful bug. This is why Titus, who is stronger than Lucifer has become, is the rightful Satan. This is why he must succeed. But that coward Lucifer never gives him a chance! Why does Lucifer not fight? Does it really matter to him to protect that… girl?

His thoughts reluctantly stray back to her. Perhaps it is her inherent weakness that pulls a… protective… response from Lucifer. Even so, that further strengthens Titus’ reasoning for Lucifer’s unfitness for being Satan. So why do images of her face continue to surface in Titus’ mind? He is not weak. He does not care. Satan is not weak. Satan does not care. He is Satan, as Satan should be. 

The mantra is repeated, but Titus feels his thoughts drifting to bandits and nurses and kings… 

No. This will not continue. 

He hardens himself. His face sets into a stoic mask, void of all affect. He musters his hatred for God, for Cain, for humans, and surrounds his heart with it. He remembers the cruelty of others and being spat on by those who looked down on him. He remembers the feeling of being forsaken by all around him. He remembers the inability to possess minor necessities: shoes, clothes, personhood. He remembers being denied the basic needs of food, shelter, love. He remembers the hunger pangs that plagued every moment of his existence as a child. That feeling of his stomach caving in on itself and searching for even the tiniest morsel to quiet it for a moment. 

A chill runs down his spine as he cannot stop himself from muttering a reluctant revelation: “I never gave her the soup.”


End file.
